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“Whoa, girl.” I held on tighter and set her back on her feet. “Don’t attack snow that hasn’t done anything to you.” The snow had stopped for the moment, but the clouds overhead felt heavy and pregnant, rather than little fluffy bunnies. Mind, there was plenty of the stuff on the ground to cater for my needs. “No, I didn’t do accounting. I studied economics, and people. Critical thinking, again to annoy my father.”
“What does he think of you now?” She rose on her toes to kiss me and missed by most of a mile.
“Jesus.” I shook my head, snorted and planted my mouth over hers. What started as a smooch devolved into something pornographic in moments. “I swear I’ll never get used to the taste of you.”
Her eyes were sad when I drew back, and I cursed myself from bringing up our shortened time again.
“My father passed away a few years ago. Mom’s in a home in Sydney. Dementia.” I shot her a look when her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t,” I said gently. “Right now she thinks she’s a teen most days, dating my father. They had that sort of relationship that started in high school and lasted forever,” I said wistfully. “As far as I can tell, they’re dating right now, in her mind. She rarely drifts back any more and talks about him incessantly. I know more about that first date than I need,” I said wryly.
“X rated?” Nisha affected a look of horror.
“He was the cheesiest,” I admitted.
“Gee, something you have in common,” she grinned playfully.
“Thanks. I aim to please,” I said with a straight face. Just.
Noisha giggled, then sighed. “You’re lucky to have a family.”
“You don’t?” I clung to each word, eager to know more about the girl than the facade she showed the world.
“They got divorced when I was sixteen. Mom went to DC as a partner in a law firm Dad disappeared into Canada as a travelling musician. I didn’t want to leave here. It’s the only place I’ve ever lived and something about the city is the best thing in my life...you know,” she mumbled, biting her lip and studying her snow covered boots. “I studied art at NYU after, and my best friend’s mother took me in for my final years at high school. So I studied, I fell apart, reinvented myself, got crappy jobs and decided I’d do my own thing after something I love. So my form of art is showing the city to those who see it through a screen or in a magazine and making it that much more real. Which usually leaves me a few bucks short of broke. Stupid, huh? I should be displaying oils in a gallery but...then I’d miss this.” She waved her gloved hands around her at the snow covered vista the park presented.
People milled about everywhere, and we followed different sets of footsteps that veered off the path, winding our own way into fresh snow beneath a copse of trees laden with tiny icicles that reflected an inverted city view.
“It’s not silly. You love the people and the city...I’d say you’re doing what you were always meant to do,” I murmured, a mad, Millham-level crazy idea forming inside my head.
“My bank account says otherwise,” Nisha muttered. “But hey, I have a ham and I’m baking it for breakfast tomorrow.”
“You’re baking a ham for breakfast?” I repeated. “Is that a NYC thing?”
“It’s a Nisha thing.” She shrugged. “I cook for the super of my building and a few others who are city orphans like me. We make an odd little family, drink, talk, eat too much and wander off sometime in the afternoon to nap. It’s kinda perfect,” she admitted, sliding her gaze up to me. “You wanna come hang out in my dingy apartment for Christmas?”
“Nothing I'd like better,” I said honestly when her mouth fell open. I kissed her again, addicted to the feel of her mouth beneath mine.
“Okay.” Her whisper filled with a sense of awe. “You weren’t part of my Christmas plan, you know.”
“You had one of those?” I grinned when she slapped my coat. “Not even gonna pretend to say ow.”
“I plan. Stuff just doesn’t always stick to you, you know.” She frowned. “Why are you laughing at me?”
“Because you’re so damn cute it hurts.” I wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into the snow.
Nisha shrieked, but we were far enough off the path that the only few passerbys laughed as I rolled us on our backs and patted the snow from her face. “Oops. Didn’t mean to make you a snow man.”
“Uh uh,” she muttered. “Hope you like it cold, Aussie.” She stuffed a handful of fresh snow down the front of my jacket.
I howled for her amusement, though the cold felt good against the faded sting of the tattoo.
The things that have happened this Christmas.
I turned off my phone most of the time, taking the ridiculously overdue break from my business. And Nisha was the perfect foil. “Don’t fight with a man who has larger hands than you do,” I warned, scooping snow between my fingers. I ducked the snowball she aimed at me that shattered on a branch overhead. “Missed.”
“No, I didn’t.” She giggled as everything on the branch and the one above that deluged right on my head. “Cute, huh?”
I formed the fastest, largest snowball I could and tossed it straight at her head.
She didn’t duck in time.
